


a thousand mistakes

by julesohara



Category: Psych
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Gen, Television, why do i keep putting juliet in danger? what am i doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesohara/pseuds/julesohara
Summary: When a series of tiny mistakes lead to Shawn Spencer's worst nightmare, the joint forces of Santa Barbara and San Francisco's finest must try to pick up the pieces - or else.(takes place after the last episode of Psych)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old work that i'm uploading basically for the sake of keeping everything in the same place!! Huge shoutout to burtcnguster on tumblr for being amazing and reading it before i published it on wattpad ages ago (lmao what a throwback) as well as just generally being the best

_Shawn_

I barely took notice of the fact that Juliet was gone when I woke up. I ignored the lack off messages from her in my digital inbox. I didn't think anything of it when she didn't answer my calls.

That was my first mistake.

I read the text from chief Vick in the car, sitting in the passenger seat. Gus drove maniacally, weaving through traffic as if our lives depended on us getting to the station on time. I yelled at him. He made a face like he knew something I didn't, which was odd, but slowed down considerably at my request.

Mistake number two.

We pulled up outside the station. Gus checked his phone, and then his work phone, which wasn't strange. The look in his eyes was, however. It almost scared me. He looked like he had seen the end of the world and come back with the realization that not everything was permanent. Or something like that.

"Hey, isn't that Lassie's car?" Gus remarked as we strode into the building.

"Holy- yes, Gus, it is! He missed us!"

And then I brushed it away without a second thought.

And that was my third mistake. I can't believe I didn't notice anything amiss and act on it, not this morning, not yesterday, not all week, although looking back I know the signs were there. I got away with pretending to be a psychic for about eight years, that's how observant I am. I convinced some of the best officers of the law in the state that I had supernatural abilities. Imagine that, jack! But when I sauntered into the police station to find not only Chief Vick and various San Francisco detectives but also Carlton Lassiter, Buzz McNabb, and the one and only officer Dobson huddled around a desk speaking in hushed voices, I had no 'premonition' no flashback or 'psychic' vision. So I fell back, crushed by the weight of a thousand mistakes, unable to believe that I, Shawn Spencer, didn't predict the words "it's about detective O'Hara," didn't guess that Lassiter would stare me down and with an almost alien tear blossoming in his eye utter the words I always dreaded.

"We lost her."

 

_Lassiter_

The look on Shawn's face killed me. I brushed a tear off my cheek- God! I'm crying? When's the last time I cried on duty?- and clenched the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turned white. Chief Vick put a comforting hand on my shoulder and elaborated.

"What he means, Mr. Spencer, is that Juliet is- I suppose we could say MIA. Believed dead. Not- confirmed."

I shrugged off her hand. "Karen, the SBPD thanks you for your involvement, but technically this is my jurisdiction, so I'll just take over the investigation from here."

"How on earth would this be your jurisdiction? The crime happened in San Francisco to an officer of the SFPD and all investigations will take place in the Bay Area and surrounding locations. This doesn't apply to you at all!"

"She's my former partner, Chief. I'm not going to let you put some officer who barely remembers her name on the case. She deserves better."

I turned to Spencer, seizing up the situation in the quick, observant manner I always did. He didn't try to hide his fear and regret. Gus had stepped closer to him, his body language revealing how much he knew about his best friend. His first instinct was to protect him, which was admittedly a bit cute, but cute wasn't what I needed right now. I needed results.

I needed Juliet.

"Karen, come on. Spencer, Guster, and I knew her better than anyone else you could possibly assign to this case. Believe it or not, you need me. If there's anything to find, we will find it."

Chief Vick appraised me. "Alright," she began slowly, "it's not exactly protocol, but you're right. The three of you can work on this, but it's strictly a private job, for me."

I attempt a weak grin. "You won't regret this, Chief. And I'll report to you every step of the way. It'll be just like old times."

She smile sadly. "If only that could be true."

 

_Gus_

Lassiter led us out of the station. Shawn's face was pale and fearful, and Lassie's calculating expression barely masked his anxiety. I shook at the thought of sweet, tough, full-of-life Juliet O'Hara... gone.

"Okay," Lassiter said. "What do we know?"

"Nothing," Shawn whispered. "We don't have anything. I'm just- I'm a fraud, it's not as if I would know anything. Gus warned me. Someday someone will die, and I won't be able to do anything about it."

I turned to him. "Don't say that, Shawn. You might not be.. what you always said you were, but you are one thing, and that's Juliet's hyper-observant husband. If anyone will find her, it'll be you."

"Gus, don't be Miranda Cosgrove's character in School of Rock!" Shawn exclaimed, his voice cracking. "I'm a coward! I'm a liar and a fraud and a coward and I'm too weak to even help Jules because I don't know anything and I didn't notice anything! I'm worthless!"

Lassiter grabbed his arm. "Spencer, I want you to listen to me, because I don't do this very often and I'm probably never going to do it again but I'm telling you right now that I believe in you." He shakily pulled his hand away. "Or something."

I stared at him. Fear and emptiness encroached upon his hardened face. He was broken down, as crippled as if he had lost a limb. Even though Lassiter hadn't worked side by side with Juliet in ages, the loss still runs deep. I can tell. I've worn that same expression.

Shawn was an emotional wreck, but he managed to take control and utilize his famed skill set. With a touch of his fingers to his temple, he assumed his typical fake psychic position that was familiarly annoying and comforting. The clock ticked in the background, slowly marking the seconds Lassiter and I spent staring into Shawn's blank face, hoping and praying for any sign, even the faintest hint of a clue.

Slowly, Shawn raised his eyes towards us, removing his fingers from the end of his eyebrow. We waited anxiously, enthralled, as he opened his mouth to speak.

"There wasn't much. I didn't think of anything extremely helpful, no huge clue or anything. But- there was one thing."

 

_Shawn_

Lassie and Gus scrambled to open Safari on their phones as I combed through my 'psychic' vision. I pictured the moment clearly, as if I was watching it on a grainy television.

I saw a table covered in letters, envelopes unopened. All from three senders, a Dunder, a Scott, and a Malone. I saw a set of keys, our car key, our house key, the key for the other car, gym locker key, etc. And then I noticed the other key, the one I didn't recognize. Slightly rusted, a darker color than the others. Where does that lead?

I mentally made my way through the hallway to the kitchen. Clean, spotless countertops. Pantry door ajar. Calendar on the wall. One date circled- the twenty fourth. Was that someone's birthday or something? I couldn't remember. But I did know that today was the seventeenth. So whatever was to happen in seven days might be a clue.

I resurfaced.

"Anything?" Lassiter questioned, hearing my theatrical sigh as I exited my little dream world. I shook my head defeatedly. Gus groaned.

"Come on, Shawn! I can't remember the last time you didn't have anything to contribute. Think harder."

I sighed again, this time out of exasperation, and listed my findings. Lassie thought hard and turned to Gus.

"Dunder, Scott, and Malone. Anything there? The key would make sense if he and O'Hara ever kept anything from each other."

I didn't mention the fact that we had been keeping things from each other lately. She wouldn't meet my eyes when she talked about work, and I took on a day job without letting her know. I didn't tell Gus, either, but he found out. If my detective wife who knew everything about me before I did (minus the psychic thing) didn't know, she was obviously preoccupied with something. And the fact that I, the "psychic," don't know what it is- well, that's worrying.

Gus interrupted my frantic thought process. "What about the calendar, though?"

"Hmm, good point, Guster. If Spencer doesn't know what that means, I'm inclined to believe that it isn't a birthday or a dentist appointment. I'll call O'Har- I'll call Brannigan. She would know."

One glance at Gus told me that I'm not the only one who noticed his slip up. This case hit too close to home for all of us. "You know what? I think we all need a break. Waffles?"

"Waffles," Gus agreed. We walked slowly towards the parking lot, all three of us deep in thought, no one daring to say a word. I looked back, only for a second, but I regret it. Chief Karen Vick stared out the window, and the hollow look in her eyes hurts as if a knife was tearing through me. She had seemed so strong, so put together in the meeting. Juliet meant - no, _means_ \- a lot to her. I know that. In my own little bubble of pain, I hadn't thought to consider how awful this was for everyone else. I'm not even close to being the only one who cares about Jules. Practically everyone who meets her loves her. I just can't imagine her... gone.

Gus turned to me, as if reading my mind. "I know, Shawn."

We got in the car and drove in the direction of waffles.

 

_Gus_

The car sped towards Joey's Diner - incidentally, best waffles on this side of anywhere - and and I stared out the window, contemplating. There was a lot to contemplate, and lot to try not to think about. An unexpectedly good idea rose in my mind as the mustard-colored sign shaped like an unneccessarily happy pancake swam into view.

"Hang on, did Shawn say Malone, Scott, and Dunder?"

"No, he said bacon, eggs, and toast. Keep up, Guster."

I frowned. "Excuse me? I think of ideas, too, you know. And I think I've got one."

"Does it involve getting the blueberry back? I miss that car," Shawn whined.

"C'mon, son! You know if I could I would! Anyway, what do those three names have in common?"

Shawn slammed the breaks. "None of them can get us the blueberry? I don't know, aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

"And you watch even more tv than I do," I countered, trying to ignore the sound of Lassiter peeling his forehead off the back of my headrest. Shawn inched his way into the shoulder of the street.

Lassiter snapped his fingers, leaning up between our seats. "I got it! It's the Office!"

Shawn groaned and pulled back into the lane, earning us an angry honk and a probably deserved middle finger. "I could've gotten that. Okay, next one."

"There is no 'next one,' Shawn! Do you get it?" I interrogated him. He nodded, exasperation showing.

"Dunder as in Dunder Mifflin, Malone as in Kevin Malone, Scott as in Michael Scott. I watched every season of that show with you, Gus. We skipped the American Duos finale for it one year. Kelly Kapoor is both of our spirit animals." He neatly skidded out of the way of a cement mixer.

"No way. I am clearly Jim Halpert. He's educated, funny, charming -"

"Okay," Lassiter plowed on, "so could they be pseudonyms?"

I exhaled slowly. "That was my train of thought."

"So maybe the culprits are guys whose names have something to do with the Office? It could of course be one man acting completely on his own, but that's very unlikely. I'm guessing a crew of about three to six," he speculated. Shawn snorted.

"Glad to see someone's back," I snapped. "What's your problem with our theory?"

"Nothing," he said. Lassie leaned up from the backseat again.

"Dammit, Spencer, just tell us what you know."

"Okay." Shawn gave in easily, obviously eager to act clever. "There's this one guy; you'll never guess what his name is."

"What?" Lassie and I growled in unison. Shawn put his hands in the air defensively, triggering a symphony of _keep your hands on the wheel!_ as he narrowly avoided a pickup truck.

"Jim Vance!"

His excited reveal was met with silence.

"Who the hell is that?" Lassiter snarled impatiently, checking his phone even though it hadn't buzzed.

"Jim as in Halpert, Vance as in Bob and refrigeration," Shawn said, his eyes nowhere near the road. I was close to slapping him. "He's a dentist."

"Okay, loose connection, but it's the only lead we've got," I admitted.

Lassiter glared at me. "Who died and made you king, Guster?"

I bit back a comeback about his missing ex-partener and turned to Shawn. "Okay, Vance is our only clue at all to possibly find Juliet. We're going with it."

"Fine," came the pouty grumble from the backseat.

Shawn grinned toothily at him in the rearview mirror. "Smashing! He's at 119 Pondview."

"Hang on," I interjected, "how do you know this, again?"

He gestured out the window. "There was a sign."

 

_Shawn_

In retrospect, Jim Vance Dental was a pretty obscure place to stop. When I spun the wheel, made a very illegal U-turn, and parked in a space that was reserved for some lady named Gladys, I got a feeling that a trip to this random pediatric dentist wasn't going to work out as we planned. For one thing, Jim Vance wasn't even there, which was explained to us by a surly male receptionist named Pierre. If anyone's counting, and I'm not, obviously, Lassie drew his gun two separate times before this guy even introduced himself. His cousin, Dr. Tilit, had showed up out of the blue yesterday to temporarily take over for him, which even Gus knew seemed a little bit sketchy. Things got heated, Gus had to confiscate Lassiter's weapon, and we got a meeting with Tilit.

Lassie brushed himself off and eyed the gun in Gus's hand longingly. "Okay, you two, why don't you let me take it from here. Your interrogation techniques are repulsive at best, and at worst, felonies."

Gus and I exchanged a glance before laughing in unison. "No offense, Lassie, but we can more than hold our own in there. And Gus, I want you to be ready. We might need Satchel Gizmo in there at any moment."

"Shawn, you can't just demand my skills any time you want. It's an art. You know I ask for at least a day's notice to get in character."

"Well, maybe next time, buddy," I said, already pushing past him.

"Wait! Spencer!" Lassiter grabbed my arm, his eyes wide with genuine panic. "You don't know what's in there."

"Um, it's a dentist. It's a dentist for little kids. Not even. It's a substitute dentist for little kids. This is the dentist's office where everyone's going to drop their electric toothbrushes on the ground at exactly 10:45." He clearly didn't get the joke. "Lassie, calm down. What's the worst that could happen?"

He was still arguing against our involvement as we strode through the door to Jim Vance's office. A man was standing there, his dark and annoyingly handsome features still visible in the dim room. He was poring over some official-looking documents and brushing his tie out of the way whenever it slipped into his line of vision. It seemed like he didn't even notice us at first. I looked at Gus, and my emotions were reflected in his anxious, confused expression.

I put my finger to my lips, backing against the wall slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Gus mimic me. Our lanky companion was a little slower to the uptake.

"Dammit Guster," he started loudly, a hand at his empty holster. I shot him an angry glare, but it wasn't quick enough. The stranger spun towards us, eyes flashing, hands drifting to his pocket. In a single fluid motion, Lassiter was armed, Gus was on the ground and empty-handed, and the other guy had a gun pointed at my throat.

"Don't even move," he choked out, hands shaking.

Lassie's lip curled intensely. "Get on the ground!"

The stranger waved his gun from me, to Gus, to Lassiter, and back to me. Lassie flinched, tightening his grip on his weapon. "I'll shoot," he warned us. "I'll shoot all of you right now."

"Do it."

I looked down, surprised and terrified. Gus was staring at him, steely-eyed.

"Do it. Kill us. Shoot all three of us, right now," he said.

The guy's hands shook harder. His eyes were wide and wet, his face dripping with fear. Gus got to his feet, not looking away from the man before us. Lassiter was perfectly still, face scrunched in angry concentration and eyes narrowed furiously. I wrung my hands to keep them from shaking, because that's how it works: you fight off every emotion, you try to keep your feelings in check, you think _not today_. _Tomorrow I'll break down and cry, but not today_. I forced my eyebrows to loosely replicate Lassie's scowl, trying to ignore the fact that the utter pain on this stranger's face was probably on mine only an hour earlier. _Juliet..._

We outlasted him. He let his hands fall to his sides, the gun still nestled in one of them. "I don't know where he is," he whispered.

"Where who is?" Lassie demanded, taking a step towards him.

"I don't know where he is!"

"Who are you talking about?" I said, trying not to let the hysteria into my voice. I didn't care about some guy. I had other concerns.

He stared at us, confused. "You aren't the cops?"

"Define 'cops,'" Gus requested. Lassiter shot him a look.

"I'm Carlton Lassiter, Chief of the Santa Barbara Police Department," he said.

"And I'm Shawn Spencer, Head Psychic. This is my partner, Tuna Tank McGraw."

Gus cawed softly, his eyes widening. If I didn't know he was just playing along, I would've requested he have an exorcism immediately.

"That's actually his name?"

Lassiter regarded him for a moment. "Yes."

"I'm Tilit, Sander Tilit." He hesitated, and then reached out to shake my hand, rubbing the red soles of his shoes against the linoleum. I shot Lassie and Gus a look, trying to decide whether or not to accept his hand. Gus shrugged.

"Nice to meet you, Sander," I said tentatively, extending my hand and shaking. He nodded, seeming to have completely regained his composure.

"Yeah, like I said, I have no idea where he is. But I probably know something you don't, eh?"

We exchanged glances, trying to figure out this guy's deal. One second, he's hysterical, the next he's almost taunting.

"Okay, I'll bite," Lassie sighed, "what do you know?"

Tilit grinned maliciously, showing so many teeth it seemed painful. "I know where your Juliet is."

Lassie and I were both paralyzed in shock, but Gus lunged forward, fingers outstretched and reaching for Sander's throat. He laughed and pointed his gun at Gus's heart, creeping backwards out the huge window until he was out of sight.

The three of us ran to the window, but the lot outside was completely empty and silent.

"He couldn't've gotten far," Lassiter raged. "Where the hell is he?"

I exhaled, adrenaline seeping out of my blood and leaving me empty. "Who the hell are we dealing with?"

 

_Lassiter_

Shawn grabbed my arm, dragging me out into the middle of the parking lot. My shoes scraped against the cement, and I could feel every scuff of my perfectly polished toes in my very soul. God, I should've changed into my work shoes. Guster sprinted a few paces behind us, already pulling out his cell phone.

"That's it," he panted, waving a floppy hand at nothing in particular, "I'm calling the Chief."

"Cool it, Gus," Shawn said. "What did that meceptionist say, again?"

"Meceptionist?" I asked, rolling my eyes and shoving my gun into its holster.

"Yeah. Male receptionist."

"It's like a murse, or a manny," Gus explained.

"Don't let O'Hara hear you say that. She'll go on one of her long feminist rants." I ran my hands through my hair and took a deep breath. "And he didn't say anything. Nothing useful, anyway. Just a bunch of rehearsed family-emergency bullshit."

Gus blinked slowly, clearly trying to compose himself. "Okay. Um, not trying to be the wet blanket, but that dude had a gun."

"Yeah, and he also said that he knew where Jules is! You think I'm not beating myself up enough for not taking him in? Or, even better, taking him out?" Shawn's jaw was clenched, his fists tight. I shook my head.

"Don't be ridiculous, Spencer. If you'd done anything, we wouldn't be able to get any information out of him." I tried to muster up a supportive pat on the back.

He dodged my hand. "Yeah? Well now he's gone. I hope you're happy."

"Happy?" I seethed. "Maybe if you hadn't completely neglected her, we wouldn't be in this situation."

"You're putting this on me? Really, Mr. I-Only-Care-About-Juliet-When-I'm-About-To-Lose-Her?"

"She's already gone," I growled, trying to pretend the insult didn't sting.

"And you're done caring?"

"I'm not-"

"I can't believe you'd give up on her," he said. "What if it was Marlowe?"

"Don't you dare. Juliet's my best friend, it hurts me just as much as it hurts you."

"Does it?"

I stared at Shawn, his suddenly and dangerously quiet voice tearing at me. Gus raised his eyebrows at me protectively, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Of course I felt bad, of course I was struggling to cope with Juliet's... disappearance. I felt like shit, regardless of her questionable choice in men.

"Juliet is my everything," Shawn choked, his hands shaking violently. "I'm not a sappy person, I've never really been a fan of all the cliché couple stuff, but all of the chocolate boxes and bouquets in the world can't even touch to the happiness I want to give Juliet every day. And she's probably dead, gonna be presumed dead soon, the higher-ups are just itching to leave her case unsolved, I know that. But I can't ever believe them. I won't. She's my everything."

"I don't want to give up on her!" I protested.

"If it were my best friend," Gus butted in, "I wouldn't give up. You must be outta your damn mind if you think I'd ever just accept that he was dead."

I took a deep breath, glaring at the two best "psychics" the Santa Barbara PD has ever had the displeasure of working with. "I'm not giving up, Guster. She's... There's never been anyone I've cared about more. Um, other than my daughter and my wife."

"Good," Shawn said. "If you ever decide to abandon her, I'll shoot you with the gun the chief is bound to give us eventually."

The air seemed to grow colder; I would've been worried about hypothermia if I wasn't a highly trained machine of a detective with bigger problems than losing a few toes. Shawn and Gus exchanged glances and quickly turned away for a rapid, hushed sidebar. I caught the words 'porcupine,' 'soulmate,' and 'gingerbread house.' Spencer's inability to cope with the real stuff was abundantly clear, and each supposedly off-handed joke he mustered was an icy reminder of the situation at hand.

I never should've let O'Hara leave Santa Barbara. I never should've let the Chief take her away from me. It's all my fault.

I'll never get a chance to tell her...

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's that?"

"Gus, can you please -"

"No," Guster insisted, "look at those scuff marks. Lassie!"

I spun around, ready to curse him into next week for disrupting my angst. Then, I saw them: a series of dark red streaks leading out of the parking lot and to the wooded area behind the plaza.

Shawn had noticed them, too. "Holy shit. Buddy, you're a genius!"

Dropping to my knees, I traced my fingers through one of the oily marks. "Looks like our guy was running, but with a severe limp."

"Innocent men don't run," Guster informed us grimly. I nodded, dramatically staring up into the grey sky.

"Looks like this case -"

"Hang on," Shawn interrupted, "we already knew he was involved."

"So?" Gus asked.

"So the fact that he ran doesn't help us."

Guster shook his head. "I don't understand."

"We knew he was guilty. Innocent is the opposite of guilty," Shawn continued pointedly.

"Yeah, okay. So what?"

"Gus, are you - okay," Shawn said, clearly exasperated. "We already knew all that, so your whole thing about how he's guilty because he ran doesn't matter."

"Actually," I interjected, "we knew that he ran, too."

Shawn nodded emphatically. "Yeah, exactly. We literally saw it happen, man."

"The only new facts were that he was probably limping and that he went into the woods," I said.

"Man, I never get any of those cool lines. Can't you just let me have this?"

Shawn shook his head. "Can't do it."

Guster shot him a loud 'tsk' before striding away towards the woods. Spencer and I were close behind, and I tried to let the silence give me enough time to finish my thought.

I'll never get a chance to tell her...

It didn't work. I couldn't choke out the words, even mentally. It's possible that I'll never be able to vocalize the fact that Juliet meant more to be than I'd ever managed to admit.

I'll never get a chance to tell her the truth.

 

_Shawn_

We raced through the parking lot, following the trail of sneaker scuff marks like Hansel and Gretel and their weird hunchback neighbor. Lassie led us through a wall of bushes that we probably could've gone around, but we kept running even as we plucked thorns out of every crevice imaginable. It was Gus who thought to whip his cell phone out of his pocket and call Chief Vick, which was a choice I was going to have to make fun of him for at a later, less stressful date. Lassiter drew his gun. I kept running.

The maze of huge tree roots and inconvenient branches slowed us down, but the red streaks continued across stumps and roots and rocks. Suddenly, the trail went cold.

Lassiter cursed colorfully as we stopped in our tracks. I pressed my fingers to my temple almost instinctively, but pretending to be a psychic didn't solve anything.

"Yeah, we won't do anything stupid," Gus panted into the phone before hanging up. "Backup is on its way."

"Did the Chief say anything about me?" I asked, mostly joking.

"She said the word 'stupid' a couple of times," he said pointedly.

"Ha ha ha. Let's hurry," I suggested, scanning the ground for a sign of the perp. "Chief Lassie? When do you start pitching in?"

"Maybe if you stopped galavanting through the forest," Lassie grumbled.

"Whoa, I don't galavant."

Gus raised his eyebrows. "C'mon son."

"Don't you 'Ed Lover' me," I argued, glaring at him. "If anyone is galavanting, it's you."

"Can you pretend to be an adult so we can solve this case, Nancy Drew?" Lassiter snapped, digging his heel into the moist ground.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Lassieface. Do you know how many murders Nancy Drew has solved?" I asked.

"None?" he guessed.

"That shows how little you know. Murder on Ice? Recipe for Murder? Nancy Drew was an icon," Gus ranted. I held my hand out calmingly.

"It's okay, buddy. Let's just try to figure out where this guy went," I said, trying to return to the topic at hand. Gus nodded sheepishly.

"Okay, so wherever Sander Tilit went, there are probably clues to O'Hara's location," Lassie said.

Gus shrugged. "Maybe she's with him."

"Gus, don't be the guy on the ten dollar bill. That's way too optimistic. Let's just focus on finding Tilit." I sighed heavily. "Our only lead is the red scuff marks. Keep looking for more, hope the trail doesn't leave off here."

We split up, our eyes locked on the ground, frantically searching for a sign that Tilit had run through the woods. The wind howled in the trees, and the sky had erupted into a bloody red sunset. Night was approaching fast.

"I've got something!" Lassiter called, kneeling in the dirt a few feet away. I hurried over, dropping to the ground next to him.

Gus was close behind me. "Is it the trail?"

"Yeah," I said, running my fingers across the mark. "Looks like we found Tilit."

"Let's keep going," Lassie advised, eyeing the darkening sky. "We have very little daylight left. Hopefully backup will show up soon."

Nodding, Gus and I set off behind him, following the scuff marks deeper and deeper into the woods.

 

_Karen_

Shawn Spencer has been nothing but trouble since I met him on the steps of the Santa Barbara Police Department that day so long ago. He's gotten results, sure, but not without goofing off and faking his way through everything in life, with a complete disregard for protocol along the way. Burton Guster, on the other hand, has always seemed to be the voice of reason at the Psych office, although rarely the leader of the two. It wasn't a surprise when Gus was the one to call and request backup. If it wasn't for his general lack of composure, working with Gus would probably be a delight.

He was clearly breathless on the phone, probably sprinting at the time. He'd explained that, along with Shawn and Chief Lassiter, he was tracking a suspect in the O'Hara case, someone named Sander Tilit. It made sense, all of a sudden, that Lassiter hadn't been the one to contact me; he cares so much for Juliet. His only concern, as always, was her safety.

I hadn't wasted any time formulating a plan, which wasn't like me. It was a little disorienting to leap into a car and feel the blood surging through my veins, my heart racing, knowing that the only thing I cared about was Juliet's safety. Shawn Spencer's lack of proper protocol suddenly made sense. I didn't have a warrant, I hadn't scoped out the target or completed a thorough investigation. All I knew was that Sander Tilit was our only suspect, and I didn't have time to find another one.

I didn't know what to do.

The tires squealed as I made the sharp turn into the parking lot of Jim Vance Dental. My gun in hand, I ripped open the door and made my way in the direction of the woods. It was when I saw the red scuff marks, just as Gus had described them, that I broke into a run. The rest of my team wasn't very deep into the woods; I caught up with them after a while.

"Mr Guster, Mr Spencer, Carlton," I said, trying to sound calm, "it's good to see the three of you working together again."

Lassiter grumbled something under his breath about "shenanigans," his eyes locked on the trail of sneaker marks. Shawn grinned at me, though his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Chief Vick! Did you bring us guns? And badges? Preferably both," he said.

I chose to ignore his question, striding ahead of them. "Detect- er, Chief Lassiter, are you packing?"

"Yes," he said, as if it were obvious.

"Take out your gun. Be ready. Spencer, Gust- where's Guster?" I asked, terrified that he had wandered off the path and gotten picked off by our perp.

"I'm over here," he called. "I found something!"

The three of us hurried to his side, and followed his finger to a vaguely bunker-like shape dug into the ground on the horizon. Lassiter cocked his gun, maybe slightly prematurely.

I cleared my throat. "Are you ready?"

Lassiter nodded, and Gus managed a soft "yeah." I turned to Spencer.

"Ready?" I repeated gently. He rubbed his temple gently.

"Nope," he said simply, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this."

 

_Juliet_

It was dark.

That was the first thing I noticed when my eyes fluttered open, coughing out a few hasty breaths. The second thing was the damp, armpit-reminiscent stench hanging in the air. Third was the shackles binding my ankles and wrists, suspending me in midair.

I swung my legs, bicycling wildly in a poorly thought-through escape plan. The heavy chains clattered against the cement floor of the haunting Scooby Doo dungeon, complete with what looked like blood, or maybe oil pastel, streaked across the ground.

I tried to survey my surroundings, discover a means of escaping. The room was empty. A slab of metal that was probably a door sat on the far wall, and a sliver of light sliced through the room. Gritting my teeth, I braced my feet against the wall and hoisted myself up by the chains holding me in the air, praying that doing pull-ups without a bar was like riding a bike. I got a few feet higher, close enough to squint through the hole in the ceiling from which light was pouring. No luck.

The door creaked open, and a man limped into the center of the room, the light barely illuminating the scars on his face. His mouth opened like it was on a hinge, like he was something far from human, and he began to laugh in a voice that was hollow and screeching.

"Trying that again, huh? Don't bother, you can't get out through the ceiling. The hole is only there so you can see my face."

"You're crazy," I breathed, my arms getting tired already. Letting myself drop back down, I tried to meet his wild eyes.

"I'm a genius," he corrected. "When they let me out of jail, I could've done anything. I could've tried to go back into society. But I was smart. I decided to make your life a living hell!"

His voice echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the weirdly greasy walls. I shuddered.

"And now your rescue team is on their way, and you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to torture them, one by one, right on this floor." He scraped his shoe against the cement, leaving a red mark. "Who should I attend to first? Your friend?" _Scrape. "_ Your mentor?" _Scrape._ "Your partner?" _Scrape._ "The love of your life?" _Scrape._

I bared my teeth, refusing to respond.

"I can't believe my revenge was this easy. Killing five birds with one stone is truly a feat of efficiency." The man's face split into a grin. "Don't forget my name. Don't forget the name of the man who ruined your life like you ruined his."

That's when I heard them; Shawn's voice, yelling "Juliet!" followed by Carlton's gruff "O'Hara!" and a few shouted promises that everything would be okay, courtesy of Gus and Chief Vick. The eyes of the creep before me glinted in the low light.

I let myself scream.


End file.
